


To The Bone

by Hydroculus



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019), The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - X-Files Fusion, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst, Blood, Gen, Gore, How Do I Tag, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Spooky, Will-centric, guys i've never posted before im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydroculus/pseuds/Hydroculus
Summary: Special Agent Schofield hasn't been able to keep a partner since the Woods Case. Sick of the complaints, they finally pass him on to FBI recluse and nut job, Special Agent Blake. In his relentless search for his missing brother, Blake has turned to finding answers in aliens and the supernatural. Despite his ridiculous theories and obsessions, Schofield finds himself unable to stay distant from his new partner. Together, they face their demons and fall down the rabbit hole of government cover ups and unexplained phenomenon.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	1. Down We're Going

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from Steven Wilson's To The Bone!

He understood their decision, he’d probably do the same thing. Put the two crazies together and hide them away in the basement. That didn’t make it any better.

He’d had more partners in the last few months than most agents would have in years. Each one found an excuse or case report to get reassigned to someone else. Schofield knew he wasn’t the easiest person to work with normally, and since _that_ mission, he didn’t even put the effort in. Everyone here was a prick anyways. 

So yes, he knew that they’d eventually reach the bottom of the barrel, he just had been hoping it wouldn’t have been that soon. Hell, being fired might even be better than this, watching his whole career get thrown away. Schofield may be well hated by his peers and superiors, but he was still _respected_. He was a damn good agent, if he said so himself, and he had worked hard to earn it. 

He didn’t know much about Agent Blake, just the rumors. He had read his college thesis, knew the cases he’d work on. The man was brilliant. Or at least he was before he became the joke of the FBI. If anything, Schofield felt more pity for the man. The job was hard and it was common to push agents to a breaking point, and he certainly wasn’t the first to lose his marbles on the job. He _was_ , however, the only agent to have a worse reputation than himself, so props to that. 

The forgotten stairwell was well tucked away into the least eye catching part of the building. At the bottom, there were at least a dozen identical doors, all for storage rooms, except one with a small sign reading “Blake,” which Schofield was 90% sure was taped on. He walked over to the “office”- _his_ “office”- and knocked. 

“Who is it?” A distant but cheery voice called.

“You’re new partner-” The door flew open before he could even finish getting the word out, revealing a man a few inches shorter than himself. 

“Will!” the man said excitedly. He stared at him expectantly, but whatever Schofield was going to say died in his throat as he took in the other agent. “Schofield.” He finally managed to correct. “Special Agent Schofield.”

“Oh, right. Well, uh, I’m Agent Blake, obviously, but you can call me Tom!” He said, his toothy smile only faltering for a second before coming back brighter than ever. A pang of guilt worked its way through Schofield but he shoved it down. It was better to stay distant. He nodded numbly and shook Blake’s extended hand. Will was surprised to find that the other man's hand was very soft, too much for a fellow field agent. He retracted his hand quickly, feeling suddenly self conscious about how rough his own were. 

“Well, come in now! It’s not much, but we’ll make it work.” 

Stepping into the room, the first thing that stuck out was how unbearably _messy_ it was. Every free space on the wall had a poster, board, picture, or paper stuck to it. The desk sat crooked in the corner of the room, plastered with books and case reports. The filing cabinet had papers sticking out and none of the draws were properly shut. Blake stood next to a rickety projector, putting in slides. Schofield stood in the middle of the room, feeling out of place. 

“You worked on the Woods Case, right? That was brilliant work.” Though it was a genuine compliment and clearly just an attempt to break the silence, the name cut through Will like a knife. He flinched before he could stop himself and simply gave a small nod, though Blake was looking at the projector. Finally, the old thing flickered on, thankfully. On the wall, a photo of a young woman appeared. She was laying on her stomach on dirt ground. The floral dress she adorned was pulled up around her midsection, showing off two strange flesh-pink dots on her midsection. 

“I know you literally just got here but I’ve already got us a case.” He gave Will a sheepish smile before turning to the picture. “Oregon female, age 21. No explainable cause of death. Her autopsy showed nothing. However, there are these distinct marks.” Blake looked at him expectantly. “Can you identify these, Schofield?”

Schofield’s face scrunched up slightly as he racked his mind. “Uh. Bite marks. Or perhaps a syringe.”

“How’s your chemistry?” The board flashed to a picture of a molecule. 

“It...doesn’t look organic. Synthetic protein?” he asked, tilting his head at Blake. 

“I have no clue!” The other agent chuckled. Will couldn’t shake how youthful he looked. “But whatever it is, it was also in Sturgis, South Dakota-” the next slide showed a young man with the same marks. “And again in Shamrock, Texas”

The final slide was just a close up of the raw, foreign bumps. Will scowled slightly, not sure how this was the federal government's business. “Well, do you have a theory.”

“Lots.” Blake replied easily. He wandered closer to Schofield, and he suppressed the urge to back away. “I just want to know why the FBI marks these as ‘unexplained phenomenon’ and then hides them away.” Much like us, Will mused. “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials, Agent Schofield?” the shorter man asked smugly, the edges of his lips flicking up. Will took a deep breath. There it was. The reason why the bureau wasted their money on this fucking joke of a ‘project’ evaded him. “Logically, no.” 

Blake nodded, eyes looking pitiful. Will frowned. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft's capabilities th-” he started rattling off dryly. 

“She is the fourth one to die like this. Now, when convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?” Blake stared at him with big innocent eyes. 

“I’m not denying she died of something, it’s just not been found yet. The investigation could’ve been butchered, or something missed. What _I_ find fantastic is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there. You just have to know where to look.”

“Well, that _is_ why the put the ‘I’ in ‘FBI.’” Blake walked over to his mess of a desk and sat down. “We leave for Oregon bright and early tomorrow. 8 AM, to be exact.” He waved a pair of tickets at Schofield, who in reply gave a curt nod and swiftly exited the room.


	2. Down Through Every Superstition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, drama time

He was washing his hands at the sink before he even registered that he was awake. A frown shadowed his eyes and he blinked owlishly at his burning hands, the blood he was so sure was there before now gone without a trace. He held them under the scalding water anyways for good measure. _They were bright pink from the water, not because they’re stained_ , he reminded himself. Unconvinced, he leaned over the sink, trying to untangle himself from whatever remaining tendrils of the nightmare. 

Back in the dirty motel bedroom, the bright alarm clock read 4:56 AM. There was no point in trying to get more sleep, so instead he chose to unpack his perfectly folded clothes and get ready for the day. 

He took his time in the shower, savoring the feeling of being clean and having time to think. He didn’t know what to do about his new partner. Before, it had been easy to keep his partners distant (maybe too much so, considering they all practically begged for someone else.) But Blake would just not give it up. Hours of travel, and he wouldn’t shut up. No matter how many one syllable answers Will offered in return or all the times he simply didn’t respond, the other agent just continued talking. And the worst part of it was, Schofield didn’t want him to stop. His stories and jokes were genuinely funny and enjoyable, and trying to keep himself from giving into the partnership his, well, partner, was so openly offering was mentally draining. He only hoped that the case at hand would make things easier. 

Then there was also the problem of his superiors. He was to write up a report on the validity of Blake’s work. At the time he hadn’t thought much of it (though he was unnerved by the strange man smoking in the corner of the room), but now he felt a tad guilty at the idea of judging Blake’s work behind his back.

Blake was awake and at his door by 5:45. Maybe it was just that Schofield wasn’t a morning person, but no man should be _that_ happy at this hour. His shirt was slightly wrinkled and his collar was sticking up a bit on the left side, and Will pushed away the urge to correct it himself. Instead he cleared his throat and vaguely motioned at it. 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Blake reddened, quickly fixing it. “Well uh, I got us a meeting with the coroner in an hour, if you’re ready to go.” 

“Ok.” Will said simply, and followed the man to their rental car. 

Blake was quiet this ride. He seemed to be deep in thought. For whatever reason, it was unnerving Schofield. 

“You didn’t-” he coughed, suddenly feeling awkward breaking the silence. “You didn’t tell me the bureau already investigated this,” he finished weakly. 

“Oh, yeah. A pair was sent out after the first three deaths, before being called back for no apparent reason. Awfully suspicious, if you ask me. The case was labeled ‘unexplained’ and buried in the X Files, ‘til I dug it up a few nights ago.” He flashed Will a toothy smile before turning back to the road. 

“And you found something they didn’t.”

“Yep!” 

“The autopsy reports of the first three victims show no unidentified marks or tissue samples. But those reports were signed by a different medical examiner than the latest victim.” 

He nodded.

“So is the medical examiner a suspect?” 

“Well, I suppose that’s what we’ll find out. I’ve got a little grave digging planned for us, and I’m gonna try to get a tissue sample from a past victim to compare. That won’t bother you, will it?”

“No-” He was cut off by the radio suddenly blaring, the stations changing rapidly. The clock started rapidly going forward and back in time. 

“What the fuck-” Schofield clamped his hands over his ears as the blaring audio changed to a squealing monotone pitch. The car swerved over and Blake hopped out, staring up at the sky. Schofield practically lept from the hell of the car. “What the fuck is going on?”

Without answering, Blake walked to the back of the car and pulled out a can of spray paint. Will just stared, eyes wide and eyebrows pinched. Blake marked a large X on the ground next to the car, before putting the spray paint away again. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked, finally finding his voice.

Blake shrugged and gave him an innocent look. “Oh, probably nothing.” Schofield glared at the smug undertone in his voice. They got back in the car. The rest of the drive was silent.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Hello!” Blake called up the hill. The coroner gave them a nod, his mouth was drawn into a grim line. The day was cold and bitter, and the cemetery was shadowed by grey clouds. 

“Agent Blake. John Truitt, from the County Coroner’s office.” The two men shook hands. Schofield gave him a curt nod and quickly shook his hand.

“How soon can we start?” Blake asked eagerly. 

“We’re ready to go,” the assistant said, gesturing to the crane that had begun digging up the grave. 

“Did you find us a place to do the examination?” 

“We’ve worked something out.”

Schofield’s attention was pulled from their conversation by the angry slamming of a car door, followed by arguing. He looked down to the street to see a man and his daughter. 

“Hey, get back in the car- no i just want to go talk to them- get back in now!” He distantly heard the man argue with his daughter, before turning and staring up directly at Will. If looks could kill, he would be dead. _”Hey. Excuse me_.” The man demanded angrily, storming up the hill. 

“Is there a problem, sir?” He asked.

Out of breath, the other man jabbed a finger at him before getting out his words. “Who the hell do you- Who the hell do you men think you are? You think you can just come up here and do whatever the goddamn hell you please?”

Schofield gave him a level look and pulled his badge out of his jacket and flipped it open in one smooth gesture. “FBI, sir. I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I'm Doctor Jay Nemman, County medical examiner.” 

“Well you must’ve been aware of our coming up here.”

Blake had noticed the commotion and was now hovering at Schofield’s side. 

“No, I’ve uh, I’ve been away.” The man looked slightly sheepish. 

“Well that answers our question, doesn’t it?” Blake said. “We noticed you didn’t perform the autopsy on this victim. You are aware of the tissue samples taken from the previous victims, right?” 

The medical examiner must have taken Blake’s friendly tone as condescending, because his mouth dropped open slightly. “I- you- what is the insinuation here? Are you saying that I missed something in those other kids' exams?” 

“No one is insinuating anything, sir.” Will said calmly, trying to de-escalate the situation, shooting Blake a look. 

“Wait a minute, see, I think you are. And if you're making an accusation, then you'd better have something to back it up.” He angrily grabbed Blake’s arm. 

“Hey now-” Blake said, and Will gently but firmly pushed the aggravated man away, nostrils flaring. The three of them jumped at a young woman’s voice. 

“Dad, come on. Please, let’s just go home.” she pleaded, her eyes slightly damp. She shifted her weight back and forth anxiously. 

“Honey-” he began.

“Dad, _please_. Let’s just go. Let’s go.”

Nemman gave the pair a final death stare, as if to say _'this isn't over,_ ' before protectively putting a hand on his daughters back and leading her away to the car. 

“Well, someone needs a longer vacation,” Blake joked in the tense silence.

Will let out a huff, on the edge of a laugh. Blake clearly took this as an achievement and gave him a big smile. “Come on, now.”

Will opened the file he’d had tucked under his arm, reading loudly over the sound of the crane. “Ray Soames was the third victim. After graduating high school, he spent time in a state mental hospital treated for post-adolescent schizophrenia.”

“Soames actually confessed to the first two murders. He pleaded to be locked up but he couldn't produce any evidence that he committed the crimes. Did you happen to read the cause of death?”

Schofield squinted at the typed font. “Exposure. They...found him in the woods.”

“Just seven hours.”

Schofield cocked his head at the other man.

“He was only gone seven hours, on a July summer night.” Blake elaborated. “How does a twenty year old kid die in just seven hours on a warm summer night from _exposure_?”

Schofield hummed in agreement, turning back to the file in his hands. “Well, you are the doctor here, Blake. What do you think?”

“I think-”

“I got it!” One of the workers called out. The coffin was being raised from it’s deep grave. As the men hefted it up, one of the straps broke and the coffin tumbled down the hill.

” _Hey_!” Blake shouted, running after it. 

The two of them arrived to find that it was broken open. Blake began to walk towards it, but Truitt shots his hand out and gripped his arm. 

“Wait, this isn’t standard medical procedure.”

“Really.” Schofield said dryly. Truitt gave them both a warning look but reluctantly let go. Blake knelt and pried off the lid of the coffin. Schofield wrinkled his nose at the sudden stink, but his features immediately smoothed out and his jaw dropped in surprise. The man behind him gasped. The coffin slammed shut and Blake stood up. “Everyone back away. This needs to be sealed up now, I don’t want anyone to see this.” Blake demanded, barely concealing his excitement. Schofield turned away, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment. All he could see in the darkness was the decaying, mummified, certainly _not_ human body.

____________________________________________________________________________

Blake looked like he’d won the lottery, standing over the strange corpse in his medical wear. Will repressed a smile and photographed the body. 

“Wow.” The shorter man breathed. “This...This is amazing, Scho. You know what this could mean? It's almost too big to even comprehend!

“Hm.” 

Blake began talking into his mic. “Subject is a hundred and fifty-six centimeters in length, weighing fifty-two pounds in extremis. Corpse is in advance stages of decay and desiccation. Distinguishing features include large ocular cavities, oblate cranium... indicates the subject is not human.” He tried to say it all professionally but by the end he was practically bubbling with excitement.

“If it’s not human, what is it?” Schofield asked, lowering his camera.

“Well. It seems mammalian.” Blake paused. “Wow,” he breathed out again. “I want x-rays, tissue samples, toxicology, gen-”

“You can’t be serious.” Will raised an eyebrow.

“What we can’t do here we’ll send away.” 

“ You can’t _honestly_ believe this is some kind of an extraterrestrial! This is somebody's sick joke.”

“Come on! We can do those x rays here, can’t we?” He looked at him, pleading. “Come on, Scho, I’m not crazy. I have the same doubts as you. Just let us check.”

Schofield sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ok. Alright.” Whatever. He didn’t even believe in this bullshit case. He’d just go along with Agent Blake and hope to get out of this goddamn town as soon as possible.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Let’s get some coffee, yeah?”

“It’s 7 at night!” Blake exclaimed.

“Yeah.” 

Blake rolled his eyes jokingly, but there was something darker underlying in his expression. Schofield stared out his window as they pulled into a diner parking lot. 

He followed the shorter man into the diner and they took a seat. There was a cheesy looking jukebox playing jazz in the corner, and a few older couples sprinkled around the place. The booths were worn and broken in and stained.

Blake picked up the menu. Schofield observed him. He still looked troubled, and for some reason it was gnawing at him. With a slight shake of his head, he pretended to look over his own, picking at his hands in his lap. 

“The cheesecake looks rather good.” Blake commented. 

“Hm.” He glanced up only to see the weird expression on Blake’s face. Guilt curled in his gut. “Yeah, it does. So does the apple pie,” he tried awkwardly instead. 

Blake gave him a curious look. Schofield swallowed and went back to mock-reading the menu. 

“Hi, welcome to the diner! What can I get for y’all tonight?” The waitress flashed them a big smile.

“Just a coffee. Please.” She nodded and looked over to Blake. 

“I’ll have a slice of your cherry pie, please,” he said, returning her smile. 

“Coming right up!” She took their menus and spun back to the kitchen. Blake took out his wallet and thumbed through his money. A picture fell out, and Blake slid in back in with noticeable care and adoration. 

“Who’s that?” 

“Hm?” Blake looked up.

“The picture.”

“Oh. My brother. Joe.” He didn’t seem to be happy about the subject.

“Ah. Right.” Schofield dropped it. 

The minutes ticked along in silence, and Schofield regretted asking to come here. The food arrived, and he sipped his steaming coffee gratefully.

“Would you like some?” Blake asked, gesturing at the pie.

“No thank you.”

“You should eat something.”

“Not hungry,” he shrugged. 

Blake returned the gesture and dug into his pie.

“How is it?”

Blake froze for a moment, and seemed to contemplate something. Finally, he asked, “So what’s different about me, then?”

“What?” Schofield tilted his head.

“I’d heard about you before you knocked on my door. You’ve talked to me more than any of your previous partners. Why?” Blake stared intently at him, and Schofield’s ears reddened.

“Nothing,” he managed, not even sure himself. 

“So if it’s not anything to do about me, then it’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“What are you on about?” 

“I know you were sent to spy on me.”

How did he know about the reports? His guilt must have shown on his face. Blake let out a humorless laugh. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.” He leaned back against the worn booth, shaking his head slightly. 

“Blake- _Tom_ , it’s not like that-”

“The hell it isn’t! They sent you down to write me up, didn’t they?”

“They’re just reports-”

“Disprove my work? Get the whole damn project shut down?”

“I-”

“Forget it.” He dropped some cash on the table and stormed out. Schofield stared at the empty spot. He stayed and finished his coffee.


End file.
